


Show Me A Hero

by kira892



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe-ish, M/M, spider-man au, spider-prompto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-06 04:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kira892/pseuds/kira892
Summary: Ignis frowns, unconvinced. He’s dressed appropriately and (as always) impeccably in a light  henley and jeans. His hair is…different, clipped neatly short and spiked straight up the front where someone had evidently tried to salvage what was left of the soft, neatly trimmed bangs that previously fell over his forehead. Prompto tries not to wince at that, remembering with stunning, humiliating clarity, nearly ripping said bangs right out of Ignis’ scalp and then having to wait almost an hour before the severed dirty-blond hair unstuck from his palm.The new hairdo is certainly different but Ignis thankfully has the bone structure and runway model looks to pull it off.“I uhh…I like your haircut.” Prompto offers sheepishly and wants to smack himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth.You don’t get to like his haircut moron.





	Show Me A Hero

**Author's Note:**

> _Show me a hero_
> 
> _And I will write you a tragedy_
> 
> This is what happens when your head is full of useless spider-man knowledge and you have the strong urge to see Ignis as Gwen Stacy. 
> 
> Alternate universe-ish, everything is the same except no magic, age-wise they're brotherhood era.

_ I. _

Enix square is lovely in the summer.

It’s also full of sketchy, half-naked hobos. 

Prompto tries not to stare as a scraggly-haired older woman slides almost completely off the bench she’s slumped on, folding bony knees to her chest. She doesn’t seem to be wearing any underwear up top and _ only _ underwear down bottom. Prompto hurriedly averts his eyes when her knees fall apart. A few feet to his right, a greasy man cradling a bottle in a brown paper bag grins a yellow, gap-filled smile at him.

He huffs out a sigh, glancing up at the clock tower of city hall for the millionth time as if expecting the giant wrought iron arms to have moved ten paces in two minutes. It’s still only 11:45 and he shoves his hands in his pockets, one leg jiggling. This is a bad idea. Oh this is such a bad idea. Bad idea bad idea bad idea bad idea. 

He notices too late that he’s muttering under his breath when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. The woman on the bench turns her head towards him and yells. “Stop vibrating over there you fucking weirdo!”

Wincing, Prompto turns away and hunches a little on himself. He probably looks sketchier than she does, zipped up in a hoodie on a cloudless August day, twitching and fidgeting like he expects someone to come at him with a knife at any moment. 

Prompto unlocks his phone and rereads the text for the millionth time. 

_ We need to talk. Meet me at noon? _

Not far from the truth really. 

“Ah, you’re here early.”

Prompto actually jumps and nearly crashes face first into a solid, very nice-smelling chest when he whirls around.

Ignis, thankfully, is calm and coordinated enough for the both of them. He takes a step back, hands coming up to steady Prompto by the arms. 

“Are you alright?” he asks the same moment Prompto shouts “Sorry! SorryI’m sorry!”

Ignis frowns, unconvinced. He’s dressed appropriately and (as always) impeccably in a light henley and jeans. His hair is…different, clipped neatly short and spiked straight up the front where someone had evidently tried to salvage what was left of the soft, neatly trimmed bangs that previously fell over his forehead. Prompto tries not to wince at that, remembering with stunning, humiliating clarity, nearly ripping said bangs right out of Ignis’ scalp and then having to wait almost an hour before the severed dirty-blond hair unstuck from his palm. 

The new hairdo is certainly different but Ignis thankfully has the bone structure and runway model looks to pull it off. 

“I uhh…I like your haircut.” Prompto offers sheepishly and wants to smack himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. _ You don’t get to like his haircut moron. _

Ignis’ face doesn’t change and that almost makes it worse. Ever tactful, he merely tilts his head and says thank you. He gives Prompto a quick once over, noting the hoodie, sweatpants and the conspicuous red boots. Then, like nothing at all is out of the ordinary and he has no idea what Prompto is wearing underneath, he glances at his watch.

“Ready to go then?”

They walk over a few blocks and settle down in a bustling cafe. They order food, make painfully stilted (at least on his end) small talk and Prompto makes it through half a panini and two iced coffees before he finally bursts. 

“Listen, are you going to have me arrested?” he whispers, leaning across the table which is tiny enough that the move puts him again almost completely face to chest with Ignis and entirely defeats the purpose of the whispering. 

A girl two tables over glances at them and Prompto hurriedly straightens in his chair. He offers an awkward smile. She watches him for a little while longer, slightly wary and Prompto catches the blur of red and blue in the vicinity of her hands before she turns back to watching...him on her phone.

He winces, looking at the news coverage of the robbery he foiled just this morning playing out on her screen. When he glances back at Ignis, he finds him staring back, gaze steady over the rim of his delicate cup of ridiculously strong coffee. He waits for a while, as if to see if Prompto is going to say anything more and then, 

“No.”

He takes a sip, cool as a cucumber, like he just dismissed a simple inquiry about the weather and not a serious felony. 

Prompto blinks. “No?”

He thinks about getting caught half naked by the royal retainer in the prince’s empty apartment, covered in soot and bruises with singed spandex rolled down to his knees then getting his hand stuck in said retainer’s hair in a clumsy attempt to escape _ and then _ having to cut the hair off because he was unable to unstick just by sheer force of his embarrassment. All already sound like crimes punishable by law in and of themselves.

“Does Noctis know?” Ignis asks. 

Prompto frantically shakes his head. “I was just close to his apartment last night and I needed to stea-borrow a change of clothes.”

There’s a hefty pause. 

“Vigilantism can bring serious charges unto a person yes.” Ignis starts. He puts his cup down and folds his hands together on the table. “But, I’m fairly confident in saying that saving the lives of multiple citizens on more than one occasion, including royalty would award an individual with the greatest of honors.”

The look on his face has Prompto adding. “Okay...I can’t help but sense that there’s another but in there?”

Ignis looks at him coolly, in the way he often did at Noctis right before a short lecture. “Superhuman abilities aside, you are barely 18 and should I feel that you are putting yourself in more danger than you are capable of handling, I am liable to stand in your way.”

Prompto wants to tell Ignis that _ he _’s barely 20 but he doesn’t. Instead he just stares at him for a good long while, waiting to see if he’ll suddenly wake up and find himself dosed in hallucinogens and strapped to some villain’s lab table somewhere. 

Ignis curls his fingers around the handle of his cup and goes back to enjoying his coffee, unbothered. 

“This isn’t just some elaborate plan to throw me in jail is it?”

Ignis’ mouth twists. “No it is not.”

“Promise?”

This time something that might have been a smile manages to sneak its way to Ignis’ face before he can shut it down, green eyes sparkling with amusement and for a second, just a second, the fluttering in Prompto’s stomach had nothing to do with fear of royal retribution.

“Prompto if I wanted you in jail you would be there right now and not having coffee with me in broad daylight.”

That...is true enough he supposes. But still, he throws a few subtle glances over his shoulder for any hidden crownsguard just in case. When the alarm in his brain warning him of any impending danger doesn’t go off, he relaxes, just a little. 

“You’re taking this a lot better than I thought you would.”

Ignis shrugs. “An evening and 2 hours in a salon chair gives one plenty of time to think.” Prompto sputters but before he can pour out the apologies again, Ignis continues. “If you like, think of it as myself merely acting in the interest of the crown. Noct is significantly safer with you around.”

Unsure of exactly what to say to that but knowing when to grab something and run, Prompto snaps his jaw shut. 

Ignis nods to himself, satisfied. “May I ask you a question?”

Prompto takes a bite out of his half-eaten panini. “Shoot.”

“Are you really running around saving the city in cheap lycra and a hoodie?”

  
  
_II._

The latch breaks and clatters to the floor but Ignis doesn’t even look up from the reports he’s typing up as his window is forced open and a silhouette falls clumsily through and lands in a groaning, undignified heap on his floor. 

“I understand that the front door isn’t ideal but there is a roof access door you know.”

Prompto wheezes out a laugh from the shadows. “I don’t think I can handle any stairs right now.”

The typing stops instantly. Prompto groans and squeezes his eyes shut when a lamp turns on exposing him in all his bruised, bloody glory. He hears some shuffling and then quick muffled footsteps as Ignis pads over and kneels next to him on the carpet. Cool fingers gently prod around his head and Prompto hisses when they hit a sore spot at his temple that triggers a fresh wave of pain in his skull. 

“Look at me,” doing so hurts but he obeys anyway and tries not to wince when Ignis shines a light in his eyes. He can’t help the hissed breath that whooshes out of him when Ignis pushes his bangs back from his face and accidentally tugs on the split skin at his hairline. 

“Where else are you hurt? Can you stand?” 

Prompto doesn’t know how to answer that question, its an effort to find anywhere on his body that _ doesn’t _ hurt. 

“Nothing’s broken. I think.” He mumbles, wiggling a little to check his hypothesis. “Are there any bones poking outta me anywhere?” 

In lieu of answering, Ignis slips one arm under his knees, another around his back and hauls him up off the floor with hardly a huff of effort. Had he been in less pain and not bleeding anywhere, Prompto might have swooned. 

He deposits him gently on the couch and walks away, coming back with a first aid kit and a pinched expression. Prompto is closer to the light now and it makes the gashes across his chest look worse than they are; dark and raw, surrounded by crusted blood and irritated skin. 

“Sorry, I think I bled all over your carpet.” Prompto offers. Ignis quirks a brow at him, incredulous. 

“Don’t move.” He instructs before getting up again. When he comes back this time, he has a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. He helps Prompto sit up and starts carefully peeling away bits of Prompto’s shredded costume that crusted into his wounds. 

“What good is glaive-grade kevlar.” Prompto hears him mutter under his breath. “Hardly worth stealing it seems.” 

It’s been months but still, Prompto feels a stab of guilt. Ignis did that for him. Ignis is doing this for him. “Hey, I’d probably be juggling my guts right now if I was still in spandex dude.”

The furrow slowly forming between Ignis’ eyebrows grows deeper and he frowns. Worried is kind of a good look on him. But then again, what isn’t?

“I think I hit my head harder than I thought.” Prompto mumbles. 

Ignis ignores him, working quickly and efficiently to get Prompto’s wounds cleaned and dressed. Peroxide against a cut as deep as the one on his forehead hurts a lot no matter how gently someone tries to be while dabbing it on and Prompto does his best to reign in his reaction to it but based on the soft shushing coming from Ignis’ mouth, he must be failing miserably. 

“I know, I know.” Ignis croons. 

“That’s totally going to scar isn’t it?” he asks. 

“Likely.” Ignis confirms. “But it’s high enough to remain hidden, your face will be unmarred for one more day. Although I’m not so sure I can say the same for the rest of you.”

Prompto glances down at the gashes across his chest and makes a face. “Figures the first time I flash my tits to a guy, they’d be bleeding.”

Ignis gives him a look. 

“Sorry, I use humor to cope with pain...also I might be a tiny bit concussed.”

Ignis pushes him gently until he’s lying down on the couch and they both go quiet as he gets to work cleaning up the cuts on Prompto’s chest. He does it with the careful, single-minded focus he applies to everything else he does and while he’s absorbed with the task, Prompto takes the time to really look at him. Despite the hour, he’s still in formal citadel clothes although his hair is drooping down from its usual style. It’s grown long enough to almost fall over his eyes again and combined with the soft yellow glow of the lamp, Ignis looks his age; young, soft. 

“Hey Iggy?” Prompto asks.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Ignis asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. 

Prompto bites his lip. He shrugs and make a vague noise as he gestures to himself, getting blood and dirt all over Ignis’ pristine couch, late during a weeknight when Ignis undoubtedly has much more important things to do.

Ignis looks at him for a long moment and not for the first time Prompto wishes he’s even half as good as Noctis and Gladio are at deciphering his miniscule expressions. 

“Someone needs to be looking after you. It might as well be me.” Ignis says softly before going back to gently wiping away old blood and dirt from Prompto’s wounds. Prompto isn’t quite sure what to make of his tone or the extraordinary gentleness with which he’s being treated but he does know that if his heart beats any faster, Ignis would be able to hear it from where he’s sitting. 

“These won’t require stitches but I would suggest avoiding the beach for a good long while. Would you like some Ibuprhh-?”

Ignis abruptly turns to hide his face in his shoulder, jaw flexing. It’s the strangest thing he’d ever seen him do and it takes Prompto a hot second to figure out that he just hid a yawn. 

Ignis clears his throat and turns back. “Sorry. Would you like some Ibuprofen?”

Maybe it was the blows to the head but Prompto feels ridiculously charmed all of a sudden. He can’t help it, he starts laughing. 

“What?” Ignis asks. 

“I think that was the first time I ever saw you yawn.”

Ignis grins wryly. “Contrary to what you and Noct might think, I am only human and fatigue catches up to us all after a few all nighters.”

That makes Prompto pause, suddenly all too aware of the time; of the piles of paperwork stacked neatly on the coffee table and the case of coffee cans next to them but before he can comment on any of it, Ignis is getting up and walking away to fetch him some pain killers.

_ III. _

Prompto did the guy a favor really. He webs the man’s mouth shut as he fixes a cheeky little _ For the Crownsguard :) - Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man _card made out of a scrap page from one of his notebooks to his jacket. A few stories below, Ignis is waiting and looking every bit the part of the unruffled government official.

“Thank you for your help,” he starts after Prompto lands soundlessly in front of him.

Prompto tugs proudly at the lapels of his vest and puffs out his chest. “You’re welcome random citizen.”

He wonders if Ignis would look a little more impressed if he didn’t know who was under the mask. 

“But was that really necessary?” he asks, looking pointedly up to where Prompto has left the idiot who tried to mug him dangling upside down from one of the fire escapes of the building next to them.

“It was for his own good. Imagine being the moron who tries to pull a knife on you, he would’ve ended up pinned to the wall with three extra knives he didn’t even see coming.” Prompto laughs.

Ignis raises his eyebrows at him and he immediately tries to backtrack. “I-I mean, you’re the prince’s advisor right? You must have some serious military training. I would assume! I really wouldn’t know. Hahaha.”

“I appreciate your concern for all citizens, good and bad alike.” Ignis answers. “Although I am curious,” 

“Hmm?” Prompto hums, head tilting curiously.

“If you believe me to be so capable, how is it that you’ve just rescued me for the fifth time this week?”

The mask is handy for many things, not the least of which is hiding any telltale blushing if ever any occurs. “Uhhhh...well, you know, I was in the neighborhood and you seemed to need help?”

Granted, Ignis probably didn’t really need rescuing from the cyclist that was _ just _ a tad too close to the sidewalk where Ignis was two days ago or the fallen tree that Prompto graciously moved out of the way of his car yesterday but still. 

Ignis lets that answer sit for a few seconds. Then after throwing some subtle glances over his shoulder and making sure no one but the criminal dangling several feet out of earshot was around, he leans in a little and asks, tone playful, “Are you keeping an eye on me mister Spider? Or is it mister Man?”

His mouth opens on reflex, some stupid, meaningless drivel on the tip of his tongue. But _ Please, mister Man is my father, _never makes it out. Instead, soft and sincere; 

“Someone needs to be looking after you. It might as well be me.”

He has never and was until this moment almost sure that he would never see Ignis taken aback. Somehow Prompto thought it would be funnier than it is. Ignis blinks, regaining his composure

“Well, that...is very kind of you.”

It’s said with a smile, hesitant and perhaps just a tad bit nervous. Prompto can relate because at the sight of it he’s torn between two equally powerful urges; to grab Ignis’ face in both hands and do something he’ll regret or to run away.

Had the mugger dangling above them not pulled out a gun and start shooting blindly in their general direction, he would’ve done both. 

As it is, Prompto webs the gun to the guy’s chest, the barrel shut and takes off across the rooftops.

_ IV. _

It happens so fast. He isn’t even finished ripping his mask off before he’s talking a mile a minute, explaining the situation as fast as he can. Prompto barely gets the last word out, only has a tenth of a second to see the widening of Ignis’ eyes before they hear the unmistakable sound of the front door getting kicked open. Prompto makes for the closet, or at least he tries but Ignis grabs him by the arm, throws him to the floor and then to his astonishment, starts stripping him like he’s going for a world record. 

Ignis gets him down to his pants when he hears the footsteps of maybe half a dozen crownsguard creeping closer to where they are and then fast as lightning; Ignis straddles his lap and rips open his own shirt. Prompto stares, jaw hanging open as buttons fly everywhere and Ignis’ pale chest is bared to him. He doesn’t get to look for long however because then Ignis is grabbing his head with both hands and slamming their lips together. 

Prompto’s embarrassingly loud “Mrrphh??!!” is drowned out by the door getting kicked open. 

Someone who is surprisingly not him makes a choking sound, someone else curses and when Ignis pulls away, Prompto looks into the stunned faces of exactly eight members of the crownsguard and realizes exactly what they’re looking at; Ignis Scientia, eldest son of the noble house of Scientia, royal retainer and adviser to the future king of the nation, flushed and half naked on the lap of the future king’s equally half-naked best friend, the best friend who is not wearing a mask or a suit and is definitely _ not _ Spider-Man.

If all the blood in his body isn’t suddenly rushing to his head in an attempt to make it explode, Prompto would probably appreciate Ignis’ cleverness and quick thinking more. 

Ignis clears his throat. 

“Is there a problem?” he asks. 

He’s the only man in the country save for maybe the king who can get caught with his tongue down another man’s throat and make _ other _ people avert their eyes in shame. 

“Yes, Uh,” A man begins, coughing. He steps forward, distinguishing himself as the leader of the squadron that just broke into Ignis’ room looking for Prompto.

“There’s a situation in the building, w-we’ve got it handled though-” He looks young, probably only a handful of years older than them and based on the way he can’t seem to keep his eyes on one thing for more than two seconds and looks to be barely resisting the urge to cover his face with his hands, Prompto would wager that he’s fairly new to the job too. He’s sure what to do in case you catch nobility in compromising positions wasn’t covered at the academy. He almost feels bad for the guy. 

“We’ll give you an-n update later.” the man finishes, chancing a glance at Ignis and noticing that he hasn’t moved at all from his place on Prompto’s lap where he’s covering the telltale red-blue patterns on his pants. 

And before Ignis can so much as give him a nod, the man turns on his heel and marches out of the room. The rest of his squadron file hurriedly after him.

It’s dead quiet after the last of the men file out, the muffled sound of their boots against the carpet growing fainter and fainter as they move on with their search, unaware that they’ve already walked away empty handed. 

For the longest time neither of them move. Prompto doesn’t even dare to breathe, suddenly hyper-aware of Ignis’ proximity, of smooth, bare skin close enough to touch, close enough that Prompto can feel the heat of him radiating out from between the sizeable gap in the front of his shirt. 

Prompto can feel himself sitting as stiff as a board, pulse ricocheting out of control and Ignis either doesn’t notice his internal panic or is pretending not to. However he’s still perched on Prompto’s lap and dangerously close to something that Ignis will _ definitely _notice if they go on like this. 

“Well, that could’ve gone worse.” Ignis says eventually. He kept his eyes on the crownsguard as they left and when he turns back to Prompto, he can’t quite seem to look him in the face. 

“My apologies, it was the best I can come up with on the spot.”

“That’s alright. I mean, it worked! So thanks...”

Ignis laughs and when he finally looks at him, it’s all Prompto can do to let out an awkward little giggle of his own, mouth suddenly dry. The air around them feels fragile, strained.

“That it did.” Ignis agrees. When he moves to get up, they both find that he can’t. Prompto huffs a breath, part deprecating and part amused as he watches his arms rise with Ignis, hands stuck to his ruined shirt.

“Sorry, happens when I get nervous. Let me just-” 

He knows he can do this, he’s as capable of unsticking as anyone is of blinking and when he tugs, Prompto is so sure that his hands will come away no problem and all will be well. 

He greatly underestimated two things however; his luck and the way his spider powers always seem to be in cahoots with the lack thereof. He tugs and Ignis’ shirt rips right in half and comes off his body with Prompto’s hands.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t-I did...um,”

The move also plunked Ignis right back on his lap, right on top of the flimsy material of his pants which can withstand virtually anything but is absolute shit at keeping his body’s reaction to the warm, solid weight of a gorgeous man he may or may not have been crushing on for the past 3 years, on his lap. 

Prompto chances a glance up at Ignis’s face to find him looking down. He can’t quite decipher his expression but when Ignis lifts wide green eyes to stare back, Prompto knows that he knows. 

“_Fuck _. I’m s-”

He doesn’t get to say whatever he is because then Ignis is leaning in and slotting their lips together again. 

A moan slips out, unbidden as Prompto’s mouth parts under Ignis’ and suddenly there are fingers in his hair, tilting his head just so and letting Ignis turn the kiss deeper, filthier. 

Ignis pulls away with a quiet, wet pop. 

“I’m not...reading the situation wrong am I?” he asks, sounding about as dazed and breathless as Prompto feels. And isn’t that just wild? _ He _ did that. Ignis, beautiful, brilliant, perfect Ignis sounds like that because of _ him _. 

Prompto laughs. “You’re never wrong about anything dude.”

He realizes that maybe he shouldn’t call the man he was just kissing and could potentially be kissing a lot more _ dude _ but Ignis only offers him a smile; small, relieved and downright fucking dazzling.

This time when Ignis leans in, Prompto meets him halfway. Ignis kisses him like he’s starving for it, like he’s been waiting for years and he’ll never get to do it again. It makes his head spin, makes him feel lighter and more powerful than free falling from buildings or swinging between skyscrapers ever has. 

When Ignis takes his bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, Prompto hauls both of them up, getting to his feet and pulling Ignis closer and up one-handed as if he weighs no more than a feather. Ignis startles and wraps those mile-long legs around him (which _ holy shit _; years worth of adolescent fantasies just came true right there), pulling back in his surprise. 

He looks down, blinks, looks back up at Prompto and dives back in to kiss him even harder than before. 

“Would you like to come to bed?” Ignis whispers between heated, aimless kisses spread out over his cheek, his jaw, his neck. 

He shivers. “You sure?”

Ignis comes back up to press their foreheads together. “I’m never wrong about anything remember?”

Later when they’re lying together under Ignis’s sheets, sated and sticky, Prompto folds his hands on Ignis’s stomach and props his chin up on top. 

“I wonder if all the crownsguard know by now.”

Ignis reaches down and runs a hand over Prompto’s hair “Perhaps. It’s not really them I’m worried about.”

Prompto tilts his head until Ignis gets the hint and slides his hand down to cup his cheek. He closes his eyes happily and leans into the touch. “Mm? What are you worried about then?”

Ignis rubs a thumb tenderly beneath Prompto’s eye. “How I’m going to explain this to Noctis.”

Prompto’s eyes open. He takes a breath to speak, stops and very carefully tries again. 

  
“Well... you can just date me and tell him that.”

Ignis hand is moving to tuck some hair behind his ear but at that he hesitates and Prompto stops breathing. 

“I think...that I would like that.”

The reserved little chuckle that tries to come out of Ignis’ throat gets mangled into a breathless wheeze when Prompto all but pounces on him, arms squeezing tight and mouth kissing every bit of Ignis’ face as he can. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks maybe he’s being lame and embarasssing but he’s young and stupid and he thinks that he’s never felt this happy in his life.

And he is. Young and stupid. He’ll suppose later that maybe they both were, that maybe someone should’ve stopped to consider what he was really asking of Ignis, what danger he’s putting him in.

But neither of them do because for now, they’re happy and maybe they’re in love and the future can wait. 

_V._

“I’m sorry.”

Funny how after almost a week of spending his days sitting in silence with nothing but his own guilt-fueled thoughts to keep him company, that’s all Prompto can think to say. 

Two nights in the ICU and three hours in an emergency surgery and Ignis is finally, _ finally _ allowed to have visitors. Promto has spent most of that time camped outside whichever wing of the hospital Ignis was in, curled up in an uncomfortable plastic chair and staring at his hands for hours. It’s funny too, he wished more than anything that he can be with him and now that he finally is, he can hardly stand to look at Ignis. 

There’s a good 5 o’clock shadow growing around his jaw and fresh scars scattered around his face, dark and jagged where previously there’d only been unmarred skin. Prompto averts his eyes before they can go any higher and stares at one of the moles on Ignis’ neck, trying to prolong having to look at the bandages wrapped around Ignis’ eyes. 

“You know... you said that a lot before the first time we kissed too.”

It’s said in a gravelly murmur, some syllables dropping off into short, empty wheezes of air and still, Prompto is so glad to hear that voice he can cry. 

“Actually, I think I said ‘I threw a crownsguard car at a villain and now the feds are after me, please help’ before we kissed.”

Ignis’ laugh is mostly air and halfway through it devolves into coughing when it catches in his parched throat. Prompto is immediately there with a glass of water, cupping the back of Ignis’ head with one hand and guiding it forward to the lip of the glass. 

Ignis takes a few slow sips and when he’s done, Prompto very carefully helps him settle back down onto his pillow. 

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asks. 

An incredulous laugh bubbles out of Prompto’s throat and he has to blink hard a few times to stave back the sting he can feel building up behind his eyes. There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice when he replies. 

“I’m not the one in a hospital bed.”

He might as well not even have tried to hold it back because hearing it come out of his own mouth makes the dam break. 

He manages to keep the sobs in for a few seconds but still, somehow Ignis seems to know because he pats around the hospital bed until Prompto reaches for his hand and clutches it in both of his. A few tears land on Ignis’ arm and Prompto lets it all go. His chest hurts with the force of his own sobs and he slowly curls inward, collapsing in on himself until his forehead is on the bed next to Ignis. 

He just barely registers the hand in his hair and the sound of Ignis’ voice, calling his name. 

“This isn’t your fault.”

_ Isn’t it _? Prompto wants to ask. 

He thinks back to that moment on the bridge; Ignis and Noctis both clutched by the throat in the hands of a madman and the sick grin he aimed Prompto’s way, knowing exactly the power he held over him. He thinks of the paralyzing fear and the thick, heavy nausea that gripped him as two of the most important people in his life dangled over their deaths, knowing Prompto is the one that put them there. 

And after all that, here he is, unscathed and weak, being comforted by Ignis while he falls apart. 

“He knew who I was Iggy. Everyone I know is in danger now. I-...I don’t know what to do.”

Which isn’t true. He doesn’t want to but he knows what he _ should _do and he hates himself just a little bit more for hesitating, for holding onto Ignis tighter instead.

Ignis squeezes his hands back as hard as he’s able. “We will figure it out.”

It was always so easy to believe Ignis whenever he said that. And even here, broken and weak in a hospital bed, sealed eyes that may never see again aimed right at him, Prompto is almost comforted that everything will be okay just because he said so. 

“In the meantime, I still feel unwell and I think I shall take a nap whether I want to or not.” Ignis continues. He gives Prompto’s hand a pointed squeeze. “Stay with me.”

It isn’t a question, so Prompto says. “Of course.”

Ignis grows heavier against the pillows in almost no time at all and Prompto stays dutifully by his side, hands still locked securely over one of his. Once he’s sure Ignis has gone under again, he brings that hand to his lips and brushes a kiss over his knuckles.

He’ll stay. For now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Me, at 2 am: Hmmm, Gwen Stacy ends up like, super dead huh? what do i do here? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I should add that Prompto's pre-Ignis suit is [Ben Reilly's original Scarlet Spider costume](https://comicvine.gamespot.com/forums/battles-7/ben-reilly-scarlet-spider-vs-spider-woman-ultimate-1471093/) because Ben is also a blonde clone and also that outfit is dope  
and his post-ignis costume is something like [Spider-Punk's](https://www.artstation.com/artwork/oBvRL) Outfit because...vest.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, I'm on tumblr and twitter @sapphicscientia if you want to come say hi


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